Southern Comfort
by Bethe
Summary: Sometimes comfort is given in the strangest of places. GS.


Southern Comfort  
  
by Bethe  
  
**Rating: PG, to be on the safe side.  
  
Spoilers: Anything up to Bloodlines is fair game.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own, or claim to own, CSI. I also don't own the song that is referenced. If you can correctly guess the name, you get the pleasure of knowing that you know a country song. Big Bob's is a figment of my alliterative imagination.  
  
Summary: Sometimes comfort is given in the strangest of places.  
  
Author's Note: This is what happens when you listen to too much country music while working a boring and mindless job. Not beta-ed.**  
  
Sara stepped out of her vehicle into the cool, breezy Vegas night and headed towards the rustic-looking building. She could hear the rowdy music grow louder as she approached the door and smiled. Her co-workers would probably ridicule her to no end if they knew where she was going. She looked up at the neon sign that said "Big Bob's Bar and Dance Hall." It was becoming a more familiar sight to her; had been since that night in May.  
  
May...when she had been pulled over. She had only had two beers, but in a rush to get home that night. Linley Parker's rape, and subsequent murder, had hit a little too close to home, and even the company of Warrick and Nick didn't retain its usual healing power. She had been lucky. Didn't Vartan say it himself only a month earlier? Cops don't like to ticket one of their own.  
  
Grissom had taken her home that night. Sara felt a little bit of humanity had been restored to him then. He had held her hand in the waiting room, and she had expected the usual spiel on finding a healthy diversion. However, he just offered to take her home. The ride was silent; not a word spoken on his actions just minutes before, but it was a comfortable silence. She didn't feel any disapproval on his part, or pity. More like concern, and dare she think, compassion? She desperately wanted to give him that much, but with a track record like Gil Grissom's, one never knew for sure.  
  
She got out of his Denali after arriving at her apartment, her mind barely registering that he had managed to find it without any direction by her, and popped her head back in to say thanks. His mouth replied, "See you at work tomorrow," but his eyes said something else. Or did they? Sara could never be too certain.  
  
She'd returned to work the next evening, and Sara was grateful that her little misadventure hadn't been relayed through the lab's grapevine. Grissom, to the outside observer, treated her no differently. The man was a study in the art of being discreet. But whenever it was just the two of them, he seemed to pay more attention to her; to pay her more respect. It was as if he was finally seeing her for the first time...in a long time.  
  
Sara entered the establishment, and the volume of the country music overpowered her auditory system for a few moments before she became used to it. She could see a myriad of people from various walks of life all mingling together. There was no crime here, not for Sara. For this was Sara's time off. And on Sara's time off, she came to 'Big Bob's Bar and Dance Hall.' Did she come here to drink? No, sir.  
  
She came to dance.  
  
She had come to enjoy country music completely by accident. The one time Greg had ridden in her vehicle to a scene, he had fiddled with her radio presets so much that she had no idea what was what anymore. She picked one, and just started listening. After a few days, she started hearing ads on the radio for Big Bob's, which offered free line-dancing lessons during the day, and the opportunity to exercise what was learned that night.  
  
It was now July, and Sara had picked up line dancing like a pro. When she was younger, she'd scoffed at parents who had encouraged her to make use of her lithe and lengthy figure by dancing. Dancing was too abstract, she'd reasoned. Not like science, with a definite beginning, ending, and procedure. But now, she saw differently. Dance was a science as well, but open to artistic interpretation. A certain number of steps, coinciding with the rhythm of the song, specific movements executed at specific times. But what made the difference was the dancer. You have to feel in order to dance. Dancing produced a completely different Sara. She was illogical, prone to flights of fancy, and never afraid to shake what her Mama gave her. She was liberated.  
  
Sara ordered an iced tea and sat down at a table. She always liked to start out her nights watching others dance. It was like a warm-up for her soul. Big Bob's was very much a family establishment, and it was evidenced by the number of parents and children out on the floor. The music was good, never vulgar, and got your heart to pumping.  
  
After finishing her tea, she got up and headed to the floor. All thoughts of death and crime left her mind as she let the music take over her. Liberated Sara wanted to be let out. This was her time to play.  
  
And play she did. Footloose and fancy free, wasn't that the saying? Whatever it was, it was Sara. Lines quickly formed as the DJ started playing more popular songs, and she kept up with the best of them. She put her all into it, only wanting to feel the music. After the final song before the intermission, however, Sara felt someone bump into her back. She got an embarrassed grin on her face and said, "Sorry." She turned around to see who had bumped her.  
  
"Grissom!" she said, trying to catch her breath. "What...what are you doing here?" Her brow wrinkled in confusion even as a slow smile spread across her face. He looked good. Impossibly good. Damn handsome, in fact, in jeans and a black tee shirt that got the old imagination to dust itself off and get back to work.  
  
"Dancing," he said after a few moments of catching his own breath. His head tilted as it had a tendency to do whenever he was being cheeky. "You?"  
  
"Ditto. I didn't know that you came here. Since when do you know how to line dance?"  
  
He shrugged and said with a nonchalant air, "I learned it to get a girl I liked to be interested in me."  
  
Sara chuffed and asked, "Did it work?" She quirked an eyebrow.  
  
Grissom's head tilted again. "Only time will tell," he said, his tone light.  
  
A silence settled over the two as Sara tried to get a grip on the situation. Grissom and those damn comments of his. There were times that Sara swore his true mission in life was to confuse the hell out her. She gestured back towards her table. "Want to sit down, have a drink?" At his look, she added, "You know, soda, tea, water? Why is it that the word 'drink' always carries alcoholic connotations?" She wrinkled her lips in a little smirk. Grissom nodded, so she led the way.  
  
"So, since when do you know how to line dance?" he asked while walking beside her.  
  
"It's become my new favorite hobby, just above rabbit-chasing," she answered in a jovial voice. "And also, you should be proud of me." She sat down and crossed her jean-clad legs. Her heart did a little jump when she noticed Grissom's eyes flicker down momentarily, attracted by the movement.  
  
"I am. But, Sara, it's your vacation. Staying in Vegas hardly qualifies as one."  
  
"Well," she said after a few moments, "I don't exactly have room in my budget to actually go somewhere. Besides, I've stayed away from anything related to forensics or work. I don't even listen to the scanner." Grissom lowered his lids, showing his lack of belief. "Much," she added in a softer voice, a sheepish grin spreading across her face.  
  
Another silence came over them as they waited for their drinks. Their drinks came, but the silence refused to leave. Grissom found himself taking the opportunity to study Sara Sidle. She was completely in her element here. She was soaking it all up. Her toe was tapping to the beat of the music in her head. She inconsistently hummed the melody, every once in awhile singing a word or two under her breath. She had been letting her hair grow out, and it had more curl tonight than usual. Jeans that hugged all the right curves, a shirt that did the same, and that beautiful smile was almost a perfect scientific formula for getting one's attention. It certainly got his.  
  
The music started up fifteen minutes later, and Sara all but jumped to her feet. Grissom stood as well, and they made their way to the dance floor. He didn't listen to country music all that often, but he knew that the next song was a popular one by the whoops from the crowd. Sara included. She giggled and executed the steps in stylish precision while mouthing the words. Grissom caught something about Christmas lights being on year round and hee-haw, but the stomping of boots pretty much drowned out the words. So he contented himself to just dancing and watching Sara.  
  
Ten minutes later, Grissom's knees were reminding him just exactly how old he was. The fact that Sara looked winded herself made him feel a little bit better. Just when he was about to bow out, the current song came to an end and something slower began to play.  
  
"Okay, all you lovebirds out there," the DJ crooned from his table, "find a partner and have a little slow dance. If I catch anyone trying to sit this out, I'll send one of the staff to dance with you. In the spotlight." He let out a raspy laugh and turned up the volume of the music. The bright lights dimmed considerably, and the room suddenly became smaller.  
  
"Damn it," Sara whispered, "Everytime this happens, I get stuck with a staff member who tries to cop a feel." Grissom raised an eyebrow. She smiled nervously. "Not that he ever actually...."  
  
"Relax, Sara," he replied, offering his hand, "I shall save you from this torture. If you'll dance with me, that is."  
  
Sara's expression softened as she took his hand. He pulled her closer to him and placed a hand just above her hip. She pressed her free palm against his shoulder, and they started to move to the song. She didn't look at his face; she couldn't bring herself to do it. Instead she focused on the smell of sawdust on the floor, boots moving on the floor in a much slower and softer rhythm than before, the feel of the music. She focused on these things to keep herself from drowning in the sea of emotion that threatened to rise in her heart.  
  
The distinct scent of him and the coarseness of his beard against the side of her face brought her back to reality. She didn't realize either of them had moved, save for the simple side-to-side motion of the dance, but they had. They were now cheek-to-cheek. His hand had slid to the small of her back and her hand had moved around to the nape of his neck.  
  
Another slow song was playing, courtesy of the DJ, and Sara and Grissom's world got even smaller. The hand that was holding hers let go and sought out his other one. Sara, in turn brought her other arm up and slid the fingers of that hand into his hair. She closed her eyes.  
  
It was all too much. It almost wasn't fair. They were on her turf. Here, Sara was not calm and analytical. She was very emotional, and half high from the adrenaline rush dancing provided her. And to have Grissom there, and caring. And so tender...  
  
He stopped moving and framed her face with his hands. Sara opened her eyes and trembled before him; not knowing what would happen next but wanting it oh, so badly anyway. She watched as his eyes took in her face, as if memorizing every minute detail. She licked her lips in unconscious anticipation, and that caused his attention to finally move downward. The tip of his own tongue peeked out from between his lips.  
  
"Sara," he whispered. His voice was hoarse, as if he'd been shouting all night. He cocked his head. In his eyes was a mixture of sadness and desperate need. He traced the outline of her mouth with his thumb. She closed her eyes again at the touch, so she was completely unprepared when his lips replaced his thumb.  
  
The kiss was fairly short. It had to be, as the song was almost over. Sara opened her eyes to find Grissom watching her. Her thumb stroked the back of his neck very slowly. Then she rested her forehead against his.  
  
"Hey, Griss?" she whispered, eyes closed.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I think it worked." Sara waited while his mind, she knew, was trying to see what she was saying. When she felt her hair flutter about her face as a result of his chuckle, she knew he'd figured it out. The final strains of the song faded out.  
  
"God, Sara, I'd hoped it would."  
  
**End.**


End file.
